


A Brief Interlude

by eidolonsight



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/M, Lighthearted shower groping, Trans Character, WWII era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 13:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11968860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolonsight/pseuds/eidolonsight
Summary: Sometimes you just have an unspoken relationship with your boss that isn't quite friendship and isn't quite romantic.





	A Brief Interlude

By all means, no one questioned Sorrow’s gender. Both legally and physically anyone would agree he was a man, albeit a pretty one. What he and Joy had both agreed upon, however, was that as far as changing and showering went it would be better to conveniently slip in with her. The woman’s facilities, although much smaller, were almost always far more private.

Though he tries his best to shower at odd hours of the morning to avoid any company, at times Joy and Sorrow can’t help overlapping schedules, and he’s gradually learning to mind less.

This is one such occasion as both scramble inside, caked in mud and now soaked to the bone. A light rain suddenly turned to downpour and no one seemed eager to stick around. He and Joy share a look, before both laugh at the disheveled appearance of the other. “Why don’t you go on, I’ll get a towel for you too,” she offers before splitting off, not giving him a chance to respond. 

With little option beside shrugging and heading to the showers he does just so, taking his time to strip layers of soaking clothes off once he’s there. Goosebumps run along pale skin as cool air hits his chest, and he idly thinks it can’t be right for a place to be so cold even to him. As he’s pausing to fuss with his own appearance in the rooms one shitty mirror the door opens and closes behind him, a flash of blonde hair catching his eye in the reflection. 

“I’m going to have Fury set all of my clothes on fire after this, christ,” Joy complains, setting towels and dry clothes near the door. “Got something for you to change into, too. Unless you want to strut the muddy and wet look.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass on that,” he replies, turning to look at her in time to see her carelessly tossing her top off to the side. His gaze lingers before moving up to meet her eyes, giving her a small nod as he does an hoping she didn’t notice. “Thanks, by the way.” They go back to stripping down after the exchange, Sorrow quickly abandoning his glasses to avoid be able to see any awkward eye-contact. To his surprise, when he turns his own shower on, the water pouring over his head isn’t as cold as the rest of his body. It’s probably only because he’s the temperature of a corpse, but if it means he can actually  _ enjoy _ his shower he’ll take it.

Neither talk for awhile, and although she’s far enough away to be blurry he can swear she's sneaking glances at him as often as he does for her. As always the same pattern of thoughts crop up; is he just being paranoid? Does she think _ he’s  _ being creepy? Is she actually looking him over because she likes him? If that’s the case what the  _ fuck _ is he supposed to do about that? And as usual coming back to: if he could see properly this wouldn’t be so fucking confusing. Or, no, it probably would, because unless she were to say something outright he would never have any way of knowing -

“Hey, can you help me get my back?” She asks, breaking into his thoughts. He looks up to find her looking his direction, holding out what he can make out to be a soap bar. The question is admittedly odd, nothing like that ever being asked before, but he can’t find any reason to say no.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he replies, taking the soap. Standing directly behind her he can see the details of her hair and her upper back. Her skin isn’t flawless by any means; dotted with small scars, a few freckles, healing wounds, and he does his best to pretend he’s not interested in looking over every mark. He rubs the soap down her shoulder blades, scrubbing with light circles down to the small of her back (wondering as he goes if it’s too far down to be going). He waits and waits for the eventual “alright, that’s good,” or even just a, “thanks,” to signal him to stop, but it doesn’t come. Even when he lets his fingers hesitantly trail down her skin, slick and soft with water. When she does speak, he’s taken by surprise and freezes in spot, only to have her ask, “Could you get a little high up? Closer around my arms?”

Sorrow swallows and nods, then after remembering her back is to him says, “Y - yeah, I can.” 

It’s easier for him to not think about it too hard and do as she asks. Running the soap under her arms as she holds them out in front of her, still careful where he touches, he does his best to oblige. Pale fingers relax as they continue smoothing over the curve of her muscles, feeling Joy’s own posture unwind under his hand. Something tells him this is what she wanted, someone to touch her - or maybe just him, particularly. Maybe she’s seen him stealing glances and noticed him leaning into her touch, and this is her cutting him some slack. Or is she testing boundaries? Pulling him in closer, seeing how far he’ll go, how they would both react to his hand brushing the curve of her breast. 

He holds his breath when it happens, the water raining down a deafening noise in his ears. It’s an opportunity for her to yell at him or slap his hand away, he waits for it. But it never happens. Rather, she turns to meet his eye out of the corner of hers, a look he can’t make out from just the brief glance. The only takeaway he has is that she doesn’t want him to  _ stop _ , necessarily. So he continues, moving a half-step closer to her until his chest is brushing her back when he shifts. It’s close enough that he can reach both arms around her better and gingerly bring the soap around to her navel. The way she moves into his touch now is noticeable enough to encourage him to move up up body until he’s ‘ washing ‘ her breasts outright, feeling far too aware of the weight of his own hands as they cup the flesh. 

She’s larger than him, even if not by much, and as he feel far more perky. It’s also hard to overlook hardened nipples that catch on the soap and his own hands, enough that he makes the conscious effort to linger and trace circles around them. Sorrow is running out of poetic or platonic ways to explain away the fact that he’s just groping his boss outright now, and she seems perfectly happy about it. Though any actual sound is drowned out he can feel the vibration in her chest as she hums, notices her own hand subtly twining around her arm in what he can only assume to be encouragement. Filled with a newfound boldness he trails fingers back over the hardened nipple and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a gasp, then soft chuckle.

“You want a turn?”

The sound startles him and he pauses, eyes growing wider at the suggestion. More time must pass, more than he expects, because she turns her head to meet his eye and asks with a faint grin, “What? Cat got your tongue? Or, you can say no if you don’t want.” 

“N - no, ah, you can, I mean, if you really want, I guess,” words spill out before he can think and again he can hear her laugh softly. Even when he does think the decision over, it doesn’t feel like a bad idea. Maybe he’s thought about this exact sort of thing a few times when he was alone at night, in fact, even if he’s been too afraid to say anything. 

She holds his gaze for a few more moments, looking for something. Joy must find it because she turns her body to face his and gently pulls the bar of soap from his hand, eyes never leaving his. By now the water is ice cold but he’s sure his face must be completely red if even her cheeks are tinted pink. His lips part as though to speak - there’s so much he wants to ask but before the thoughts can begin forming into words she holds a finger to his mouth and simply says, “Worry about it later.”

Her actions are much more confident from the start. In a breath her face is only inches from his, hands falling on his shoulders and trailing down his chest. Keeping up her gaze leaves him swimming in deep blues and flutters as sensitive skin is cupped in one palm and gently caressed by the other. Though not shy she’s just as gentle in her fondling, only briefly pinching and prodding at the nipples that stand at attention. He can’t help but think the way she draws him in her gaze, inching closer, muse be entirely intentional and calculated, because he doesn’t even realize how close they are until their lips brush and she leans forward to close the gap. Much as he wants to think she tastes like vanilla or honeydew, all he can taste is the iron of the water. Somehow, that’s more fitting. 

The only way he can describe the kiss is experimental, slow and careful to test his reaction, and once it’s clear the motion is reciprocated she changes her approach. A hand reaches to curl in wet, silver locks, tilting his head back slightly and pushing him into a deeper kiss. Eyes flutter closed as he welcomes the attention, the lips that part and prompt him to do the same and allow her tongue to slip in. At the same time the hand still at his breast suddenly pinches down harder on his nipple, new heat lancing through his chest when she tugs on the flesh. Sorrow can’t keep a groan from slipping out and nearly claps a hand over his mouth out of embarrassment. The way he bites his lip after, a reflection of the gut reaction, must amuse Joy because he can hear her laugh between the kisses now trailing down his jaw.

Encouraged by his response she goes on to knead his chest with less gentle touch. Now without the burden of overthinking things he lets his arms rest around her hips, nails digging into her back whenever he suppresses a sound. Lips brush his neck a moment later and without warning she bites down on his skin and sucks on the spot, if he had to guess, with the intention of drawing out noise. It works as he melts into her touch and gradually cares less and less about the details of it and more about the fluttering heat in his chest, now coupled with the occasional throb between his legs. 

The moment goes on forever, and he wants it to. It’s every guilty dream of standing out in the rain with her, albeit a little more sexual than he had imaged. 

And yet, forever ends too soon. Joy pulls back from his neck and murmurs next to his ear, “Hate to break this up, but I think we oughta get out before we catch a cold, don’t you think?”

Sorrow hates that the first thought that comes to mind in response is ‘I’d let you fuck me in a snowbank if it didn’t bother you’. But, there wasn’t a chance in frozen hell those words would leave his mouth. Instead he gives a huff and agrees, “You’re right, I suppose.” 

The showers are turned off, soap previously tossed aside is picked up, and they dry off without a word. Sorrow’s not sure what the hell to say after all of that, but somehow just exchanging glances and smiles is enough for the moment. Even after they get dressed and part ways neither has anything to say, or maybe nothing they can think to say. Maybe it will come back up another time, or maybe not. Maybe it was just a one time chance for both to receive some much needed physical affection. 

Either way he knows he can hold onto the memory whenever he can’t get her out of his thoughts. 

**Author's Note:**

> Listen I was terrified of posting this because I didn't want everyone jumping down my throat about being transphobic _somehow_, so please for the love of god just be nice! I'm not cis and I'm reasonable.


End file.
